Saturday, September 4, 2010
Back at his apartment, he opened the door and put his bags down in the dark room. That's when he began to hear the sound of a strong wind building up. He stood motionless. For some reason, neither pieces of mail, nor post-it notes on the fridge were disturbed. He didn't feel any breeze on his skin, his clothes didn't billow or flap, and the apartment's dust and secrets didn't scatter around him. There was only the sound of it, but not the effect. Surveying the apartment with a turn of the head, he reached one hand behind him and turned on the lights. The sound ceased. His hand hovered a 1/4 of an inch above the light switch. He pressed down. The sound returned. In a flurry of fear, I grabbed my bags, fumbled with the keys, took the stairs to the first floor, and hailed a cab to the airport. When I got to the airport, there were crowds of people leaning against walls, sitting on their bags, and opening and closing their cell phones. I told the driver to head back to the city. Back at the apartment, I opened the door quickly and put my bags down. When I closed the door, I heard the sound of the wind slowly building behind me.